DAY 14: Sundays

So I’ve finally made it through another knotty week of dieting.  Mixed emotions are forever there, and the temptations at home are flashing before me like a topless girl on a strip pole.  Not quite what I had in mind, but I’m giving it another week before the dieting habit finally kicks in. My wife has just served my son a lip-smacking serving of French toast, and I have kicked back on the couch with my portion of bran and low fat milk.

My mother called me up last night, inviting us to her monstrous Sunday lunch.  Sadly, I declined; I have a pile of emails to answer, and a few design deadlines to meet.  Truthfully, I could not subject myself to another one of my mother’s appetizing luncheons, when I am so far into my diet.

The phone rang again this morning – my mother inquiring if I had reconsidered her invitation: roast chicken, marinated in Portuguese spices, and slowly cooked with a bountiful group of sweet, honey-glazed potatoes.  Rich lemon and rice soup, dotted with succulent meatballs, Greek salad – drenched with creamy balsamic vinegar and complimented with sun-dried tomatoes, and the finale: the ultimate chocolate sponge cake, embraced by a pool of chocolate Ganache.

A sense of uneasiness overpowered me, weighing me down.  I was sweating, and my breathing – thunderous.  For a split second, I was tempted to accept, but luckily Spiritual Guilt intervened.

My wife turned on the television, and a live broadcast from Nicosia’s main cathedral was on the air.  The mesmerising sounds of the Byzantine chant were reminding me to stay focused, conveying a message that spiritual help was always there.  

I found myself staring at a cliché: I was in the middle, joined by two angels positioned on either side of my shoulders.  The dark angel, a dazzling female with large curvaceous wings, was reaching for me in an open embrace; a heap of mouth-watering foods surrounded her.

The other, a peaceful and saintly-looking angel, appealed to me more sympathetically.  She understood my pain.  She was holding onto a photo – a portrait of me – thinner, wiser, and fine-looking.

I turned to her, and she smiled.  The dark angel disappeared into a cloud of smoke, but I was certain that she would return.  Although I was embraced by a warm, comforting feeling, my mind was insistently referring to the food the dark angel had presented to me...

My wife has graciously accepted my mother’s invitation.  She and my son will be joining the family for lunch and I will remain at home, absorbed by my computer.  I am grateful that I have an angel to watch over me, so I will not be tempted to fault in any way.

Unfortunately, the dark angel has reappeared. She’s brought back an army of support.  The Three Tenors have taken a seat behind her, and I am starting to panic.  Hansel and Gretel are screaming in the background; it appears that my Sunday is going to be a challenging one...

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  

For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online, visit www.paul-lambis.com